


The Aide

by rosequartzstars



Series: Hogwarts Actually [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Divergence - Post-Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Canon Divergence - Post-Hogwarts, F/M, Fred Weasley Dies, Inspired by Love Actually, Meet-Cute, Minister for Magic Hermione Granger, Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter), One Shot, Oneshot, Post-Hogwarts, RomCom AU, Self-Indulgent, Short One Shot, hermione shuts him down like it's nobody's business, i'm indulging so heavily in writing this, inspired by the David and Natalie storyline from Love Actually, justin makes mild fun of ron's weight, ministry employee ron weasley, office aide, romcom inspired, ron and hermione don't know each other, ron bakes, the war did happen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-14 21:28:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29302704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosequartzstars/pseuds/rosequartzstars
Summary: It is Minister for Magic Hermione Granger's first day on the job, and as she is introduced to her office staff, it is a certain orange-haired aide with a nice bum, a penchant for making her laugh, and a seemingly-endless supply of tea and pastries who irredeemably captivates her.Inspired by the David/Natalie storyline from Love Actually.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Series: Hogwarts Actually [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2152227
Comments: 14
Kudos: 23
Collections: RomioneCom





	The Aide

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cheesyficwriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheesyficwriter/gifts).



"I like what he did to the place," Hermione remarked as she walked in the office, cradling a box of her things in her arms. Behind her was Justin Finch-Fletchley, her Ministry-assigned assistant, lugging another one of the heavy boxes. "When I was first here, back when I worked for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, it was still a pigsty left behind by Thicknesse."

"Of course Minister Shacklebolt wasn't going to let it stand," Justin remarked as he set his load on the bare desk. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, where they'd slid down with the effort of carrying the box. "And even if he had, I'm sure you would've straightened it out in no time, Minister Granger."

 _Minister Granger_. Hermione let the words swill around in her mind for a bit, savoring the ring Justin's admiring tone had infused them with. This was her first day on the job: she'd been formally elected a few months prior, but Kingsley's tenure had carried through the end of the year. Not that she didn't appreciate it: those precious weeks had been elemental in her mastering the ways of the position, as Kingsley had allowed her to shadow him to learn the ropes. Though her time to put that into practice was just beginning, that process had allowed Hermione to absorb and store all the theory. And if there was one thing Hermione Granger was great at, it was working from theory.

She didn't consciously know it then, but now, as she dropped the box on the desk by Justin's and took a slow, pacing walk around the round office, she realized that this was what she'd been dreaming of since she read the words "Minister of Magic" in one of the books (she couldn't remember which) that she'd avidly consumed after getting her Hogwarts owl.

She ran a hand over the polished ebony wood of the desk and smiled to herself: this _fit_. This was where she was meant to be.

As if sensing the enchantment the spacious office had laid on Hermione, Justin said, "I'll leave you to settle in, then," and exited the office, the heavy door closing with a soft thud behind him.

The sound of the door was enough to jolt Hermione back to her usual pragmatic, get-things-done self. Her awestruck walk now solidified into a solid march toward her desk, where she unpacked her belongings with the pace and precision of a master of organization. She had packed the boxes herself, and she knew what she'd put into each, where she'd put it, and where she wanted it, so assembling the Minister for Magic's office into her own was as methodical and effortless as her morning routine.

The potted wiggentree would go by the large round window, a spell placed on it to reflect the clear morning outside. The shelves were quickly stacked with the most precious —and useful— of her books (with _Hogwarts: a History_ holding a place of honor). The inkwell with the ink she had charmed to change colors periodically sat expectantly by her phoenix-feather quill (a gift of Kingsley's, who had received it from Dumbledore), eagerly awaiting its first assignment in the hand of a Minister for Magic. _The_ Minister for Magic.

Merlin, it still gave her chills.

She finished laying out her belongings and collapsed the boxes manually, unweaving the cardboard to flatten them. There were magical ways to do this, but she much preferred the method of the Muggle way. Besides, it was funny, but being Minister for _Magic_ had only made her feel more fondly for her Muggle roots. Collapsing these boxes by hand felt, in a way, like paying homage to the other side of her. She may occupy the highest-echelon position in the Wizarding World, but she was still the daughter of Dr. and Dr. Granger, and she would do well to remember it. After all, wasn't that part of her foremost objective, and continuation of Kingsley's work? To bridge the divide between purebloods and Muggleborns?

She now sat gently into the plush dragon-leather chair behind the ebony desk. Enchanted to provide back support, Hermione immediately felt the tension melt from her spine. Now she wouldn't have to worry about the havoc the inevitable long hours and all-nighters would wreak on her posture. Yes, she was only thirty-three, but the occasional pangs along her back (courtesy of the time she'd spent poring over books in the Hogwarts library) served as aching reminders that she would soon be not quite so young.

She lay back into the chair and let out a contented sigh. Again, the feeling of _fitting_ came over her. Yes, this had been made for her.

A knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts. "Come in!" she said, already reveling in the authority her voice —the voice of _the_ Minister for Magic— doubtless carried.

"Minister, I hope you've been able to settle in comfortably?" Justin said as he pushed the door open. He swept the office quickly with a procedural glance and gave a small approving nod. "Excellent. I was sure it would take you no time."

Hermione then caught sight of a few people lingering behind the door, swaying expectantly. She moved her gaze past Justin and looked at them: "Come in, please!" she bid them, unsure of who exactly she was speaking to. Three figures shuffled in.

"Ah," Justin exhaled as he looked at them out of the corner of his eye, as if he had meant to show them in but it had slipped his mind. "So sorry..." He cleared his throat. "As Minister for Magic, you'll have numerous responsibilities, but here at the Ministry we don't want you to have to shoulder all of them yourself. So it's my utmost pleasure to present to you your office staff."

The first to step forward, ushered by Justin's hand, was a jolly-looking plump man with a kind face and sandy hair. On his nose sat a pair of thick-rimmed glasses. "This is Ernie Macmillan, your secretary. He's a whiz with a schedule and with personal relations, so you truly could not be in better hands."

"I can tell," Hermione said, smiling, standing up from behind her desk and walking around it to extend her hand for Ernie to shake. "How do you do, Ernie?"

To her surprise (she had to choke back a laugh), Ernie bowed in a reverence so deep that his glasses nearly slid off his nose. "Minister Granger, it is an honor to serve in your office."

"Call me Hermione, please," she said, placing a hand lightly on his back to let him know he could stand up straight.

"Of course, Minister," Ernie replied hastily, and he looked as though he was about to bow again before remembering himself and scrambling back a few steps.

Justin moved on to the next of the three, a raven-haired woman with slender features and a sharp, keen gaze. "This is Susan Bones, your chief Ministry liaison. She is a connoisseur of all Ministry offices, and she is an unbelievable asset in fostering communication with other divisions and making sure you stay informed about everything that's going on in the Ministry."

"It's a pleasure, Minister," Susan smiled, her thin mouth stretching into a friendly smile. Hermione immediately perceived her self-assurance, and was glad her chief liaison had such a quality.

"It's all mine, Susan," she said, shaking Susan's hand (thankfully, she hadn't tried to bow). "And please— call me Hermione."

Susan didn't speak, just closed her eyes and nodded slightly to signal she understood, before stepping gracefully back to join Ernie by Justin.

"And this," Justin finished, signaling the person left over, "is Ron Weasley, your office aide. He's on hand if ever you should crave a pastry, a cup of something, or any other thing that would make your workday more bearable."

Hermione looked the man up and down: he was tall, somewhat lanky, with a long nose spattered by a handful of freckles. His cool blue eyes held none of the icy aloofness of the usual color, but were rather infused with a warmth that sent them twinkling.

"Hullo, Hermione—" Ron began cheerily, stepping forward with a long leg to shake her hand. All four of the others froze; Ron, taking notice of this, froze mid-step as well and nearly toppled over. "Oh, curse it, I've fucked it already, haven't I?" Ernie let out a small gasp at the swearword, and Ron groaned. "Blast it, there it is again."

Hermione felt a small laugh beginning to burble in her throat. "Don't worry, Ron, you haven't _ruined_ anything," she defused the tension (because Justin looked like he was about to pop an artery) as she shook his hand. "Seems like we skip the phase where I tell you to call me Hermione."

"Ahead of the game, aren't I?" he responded, shaking her hand vigorously. His touch was as warm as his gaze, and it was firm without being crushing. _Out of all the handshakes I've gotten today, I've liked this one the best,_ Hermione thought to herself before immediately shaking the thought out of her mind. _What an odd thought to have!_

"Very much so," she responded. He dropped his hand, and she almost regretted it. "Very commendable, too! I like that in my staff."

"Well, I'm just as honored to be here," Ron said with a smile, "but you'll have to forgive me if I don't bow."

Behind Ron, Ernie's nose crinkled slightly, but Hermione again felt a laugh catch in her throat. Having Ron in the room seemed to introduce a kind of lightness into it, much more than she'd experienced all day with the weight of the formalities upon her shoulder. It felt like a breath of fresh air. It felt _good_.

Justin pushed Ron softly behind to step forward, dissipating the light air with an air of businesslike procedure. "This," he said as he handed Hermione a brick-like object with four partitions, "is the Summoner."

"Sounds necromantic," Ron commented in the background. Justin flashed him a murderous look before returning to the object.

"Each of the partitions corresponds to one of us. I'm canary yellow, Susan is royal blue, Ernie is light pink, and Ron is bright orange. If you ever need any of us, simply tap your wand lightly against the partition of the color pertaining to who you want to call in. We have its counterpart strapped to our Ministry badges, so when you tap, that person will get a bright light that won't turn off until that person steps into your office."

"Sounds like a very skillful variation of the Protean charm," Hermione said.

"Indeed. Try them out, please?" Justin requested.

Hermione tapped her wand lightly against each partition, reminding her of that small toy xylophone she used to have as a child, and immediately as she did so, a light came on wherever each staff member wore their badge: Ernie, around his neck; Susan, pinned to her lapel; and Justin, at his waist. Only for Ron was the light not immediately visible: he rummaged around in his jacket pocket until he produced the badge, illuminated by a bright orange light.

"Ron, you're supposed to have your bag on you," Justin scolded him.

"It's on me, isn't it?" Ron responded, holding it.

Justin sighed. He turned again to Hermione: "You can also manually disable them, if you don't need us anymore before we get here. Simply tap your wand against the lit-up square again and our lights will vanish."

Hermione looked at the Summoner in her hand and noticed that each partition had lit up. As she tapped each, the colored lights went out both on the Summoner and on each staff member's respective badge. Impressed, she set the Summoner on her desk by the inkwell.

"Excellent," Justin smiled. "Well, that's it on our part! Have a stupendous first day, Minister Granger, and remember— if you need us, we're a wand tap away."

"Thank you, that's very kind," Hermione said, reclining against the front of her desk. Justin gave a small, dutiful nod and exited the office, followed closely by Susan and Ernie. Only Ron lingered a little longer, waiting until they had exited the room.

"Welcome, Hermione," was all he said through a large grin before leaving after the three others.

Reveling in the nice, warm feeling that that greeting —so much simpler, so much kinder— than the standard-issue ones she'd been doused in today had left her with. She stared at the door a little longer, as if it somehow would give her a second glimpse of that brilliant smile Ron had flashed her. But she shook the thought from her head, just as she'd shaken the thought concerning Ron's handshake: it was time for her to get to work.

She had been behind her desk for scarcely half an hour before she heard her door creak open. She looked up, expecting to see Justin, but it was Ron who was stepping toward her carrying a tray.

"Noon tea?" he said. He attempted to set it down atop the desk, but Hermione had already filled it with paperwork, so he instead waved his wand and let the tray hover a few inches off her desk, still within her reach.

"Why, thank you." Hermione set her quill down and eyed the tray hungrily. On the tray was a cup, a small pot of tea, a pumpkin pastry, and three chocolate biscuits. She hadn't realized it with her work, but she had wanted some food, and her stomach was grumbling now.

Ron didn't take his leave immediately: instead, he stood idly beside her desk, sweeping slowly over the mountains of paperwork that had already accumulated on her desk. "Blimey, been here so little and already have this much work?"

"Oh– no," Hermione said, scrambling to pile some of the papers so that the desk would look less crowded. "No, of course not, but I'm a bit of an overachiever. I'm reading up on what pureblood laws still exist in the Ministry. Shacklebolt started getting rid of some of them, and of coursed I worked with him then when I headed Magical Law Enforcement, but it's quite another thing to be looking at all this from the Minister's chair. I just want to make sure I know all I possibly can about these before I set out repealing them."

"You're a Muggleborn yourself, right?" Ron said, and seemed to immediately remember himself. "Not that that's— a bad thing, or anything, I mean— I just meant to express my admiration, y'know. It's good work you're doing."

"Thank you," Hermione laughed, and it seemed to bring Ron back from flustered shame to amused bashfulness. "So I expect you wouldn't have been among the crowd that opposed the election of a 'Mudblood' as Minister and convened outside the Ministry the day after it?"

"Absolutely not," Ron said quickly, furrowing his brow. "No, that's absolutely ridiculous. It was high time someone other than those old snobs took the chair— not that Minister Shacklebolt was, of course— I mean—" he was getting flustered again, and a stray hand gesture nearly knocked the tray over. In a flash, he lunged to steady it, and Hermione swept the paperwork under it aside so catastrophe wouldn't befall it. "I'm ever so sorry," Ron said, the tips of his ears tinging red as he took a step back from the desk.

"No, it's alright," Hermione said, returning the papers to their original order.

"Anyway, all I meant was—" He sighed, and when he spoke again, his tone had gained in fierceness. "It's just a bunch of arseholes out there, you know, Ms. Granger? Lucius Malfoy and the rest of the ex-Death Eater gaggle that isn't rotting in Azkaban. But you shouldn't care about what _they_ think. Their time is past."

"Thank you, Ron, that's very kind," Hermione smiled. "What about you? Got any Muggle blood in you?"

The irreverence of her question made Ron feel better about that of his, and he answered eagerly. "No, actually, we're one of the 'pureblood traitors'. The Malfoys and the rest of that lot hate us because we 'associate with Muggles,' or whatever. We just don't see why we shouldn't— especially not my dad, Arthur Weasley? Works down in Misuse of Muggle Artifacts?"

That name made Hermione remember a kindly-faced man with orange hair graying into tawny, with a large nose and crinkles by his eyes, likely from the permanent smile she had always seen on him. Now that she thought about it, the resemblance between him and Ron was striking. "I _do_ know him. Your father is lovely."

"Oh, that'll make his day," Ron chuckled, "to hear the Minister for Magic has called him 'lovely.'"

"Any more family of yours working in the Ministry?"

At this, Ron's nose wrinkled, the freckles bleeding into one another. "Yeah, my brother Percy. Department of Magical Transportation? Bit of a bighead?"

Hermione remembered him too, then, a tall man with auburn hair and spectacles who always sent the most complete reports to Kingsley but whose writing sounded like he'd swallowed a thesaurus. "I've interacted with him too, though less," she said.

"Lucky you," said Ron, "not missing out on much there."

"I'm sure he's not that bad."

"Well, I suppose you two would get along," Ron snorted, followed immediately by another sigh. "Damn it, I need to stop saying things like that."

"No, please, it's refreshing," Hermione said, though that amount of irreverent quips from _anyone_ else would've made her furious— she couldn't tell what exactly was what made Ron so digestible, so welcome to her. "I'm tired of everyone tiptoeing me, _yes Minister_ this, _yes Minister_ that. And it's only my first day on the job."

"I thought that's why one got into politics," Ron commented as he helped himself to one of the chocolate biscuits on the tray. "To hear people bending over backwards for you. At least, that's why Percy joined the Ministry."

"And you, Ron? Why'd you join the Ministry?" Hermione said. Seeing Ron grab the biscuit had brought her back to the reality of the delicious-looking tray before her, and she now held the teapot over the cup to pour out some of the tea. It smelled fresh, a fruity brew with a fragrant body, much to her taste— how had he known? "I'm sure it wasn't only so you could pick off the Minister for Magic's biscuits."

Rather than put the half-eaten biscuit back on the plate with a hint of guilt, as any other staff worker would've done, Ron finished off the cookie and dusted off his fingers. "Hey, I have a claim to these biscuits. I made them."

"You made these?" Hermione said, looking now at the biscuit she had grabbed. "I thought the Ministry house-elves took care of anything hospitality-related."

"They do, but I enjoy baking," shrugged Ron, nonchalantly taking a seat at the far end of Hermione's desk. He picked the last chocolate biscuit off the plate and ate it before continuing. "There's not much one gets to do as an aide, so I enjoy doing this one thing to stay a little busier than my job demands."

"Well, these are delicious," Hermione said, finishing the biscuit and now grabbing the fork to dig into the pumpkin pastry. "You're a man of many qualities. But you still haven't told me why you joined the Ministry."

"I'm saving up," Ron said. "My brother George— he used to have a joke shop with his twin Fred, and I'm working here to save up enough to keep it going."

"What happened to Fred?" Hermione asked softly, dreading the answer that had become all-too-common since she was 17.

It was exactly as she had expected. "The war," Ron said, and for the first time in the entirety of the time she'd known him she heard a shade of sadness in his voice. "Which is exactly why I won't let George give up on his dream. It's Fred's legacy, of sorts. So that's why I'm working here— baking, serving tea, and perpetually messing up my tact around the Minister for Magic."

The toothy grin he'd flashed her earlier now returned to his face, and Hermione found herself blushing mildly as she smiled back at him. The spell was quick to break, however, for she cleared her throat and spoke again. "Well, I suppose I'd best be getting back to work."

"Yes, of course," Ron said, scrambling to rise from where he had sat. "Apologies for the distraction."

"No, please, it was a very welcome one," Hermione smiled.

"Well, if you need me —if you want a tea refill, or anything—, just give me a tap," Ron said, and his brow scrunched immediately once more. "I mean, not me, the _Summoner_ —"

Hermione laughed briefly: "I know, Ron. Thank you."

"Alright, then, I'd best shut up and leave before I say something stupid again," Ron said. "Should I bow before I exit? Would that make up for it?"

"Poor Ernie," Hermione said, but laughed again despite her better tendencies. "That's gonna chase him forever, won't it?"

"Oh, it always has," smirked Ron, and Hermione felt as though he was sharing a private joke with her. "His first day at the Ministry, Ernie was so starstruck he bowed to everyone, including the Floo guard by his chimney chute. Merlin, he nearly kissed Susan's hand. Perhaps I'm just irked because he's never bowed to me."

With that, Ron gave an exaggerated little bow and exited the office, Hermione's laughter tinkling pleasantly behind him.

Though her office was quiet once more, just as she liked it, Hermione couldn't help but miss the lighthearted chatter as soon as the silence had had a chance to settle in again. Sure, the piles of paperwork on her desk would soon be ever-growing, but she wanted nothing more than to tap Ron back in. She stared at the Summoner longingly for a few seconds, but shook the desire out of her head— she didn't want to appear weird to her aide, did she? Especially because he was probably just being this nice to her because it was in his job description. Unless...?

Hermione pondered this as she took a sip from her teacup, still perfectly warm. As the flavors burst and danced along her tongue, she felt a comforting vigor course through her. No, surely Ron's niceness stemmed from a deeper place than his contract. And with the niceness of this thought and the sip of tea now going down her throat, she disposed herself to dive into her paperwork once more.

It was an hour or so before she heard her door creak open again, and saw Ron standing expectantly at it.

"I didn't tap," she said softly.

"I know," Ron answered as he approached her desk. "I just came to collect the empty tray."

"Oh— thank you," Hermione said as Ron took hold of the hovering tray, which now held only a plate with a few crumbs and an empty teapot in which only a few herbal dredges still swam.

"Don't mention it," Ron said, giving her a wink before turning around and walking out of the room carrying the tray. Hermione couldn't help but let her eyes trail to the tautness of his pants over his bum, almost intentionally visible as his gait carried him off.

At the door, Ron crossed paths with Justin, who was just entering.

"Something the matter?" Justin said to her once Ron had exited.

"Huh?" Hermione piped up, and only then did she realize she had had her head reclined on her hand, her elbow on the desk, and had been staring idly at the spot by the door where Ron (and his bum) had exited. "Oh— no, sorry, just taking a mental break from all this."

"How are you finding the work?" Justin said, pulling out one of the chairs at the other end of Hermione's desk and sitting on it. Hermione hadn't actively noticed these chairs: when Ron had sat on her desk, it had seemed so natural that it had scarcely occurred to her that a more conventional seating arrangement might exist.

"Good, good, pretty standard," Hermione remarked dismissively. Her eyes then bore inquisitively into Justin as her tone changed: "Say, Justin, do you know much about Ron?"

"No, not really," Justin commented, picking absently at his nails. He snickered quietly: "A bit wide round the waist, though, isn't he?"

Hermione didn't join him. "I don't agree, but even if I did, I don't see why that should, at all, hold a stake in how I perceive him," she said coldly.

Justin tried to camouflage his lingering laughter into a coughing fit, turning to Hermione with seemingly innocuous eyes. "No, I don't know too much about Ron. He's a relatively new hire, came in around the same time you got elected. I know a bit more about his father and brother who work here, but I've had little chance to learn about him. Why?"

"No reason," Hermione said, trying to sound nonchalant. "I just take an interest in those who work for me, that's all."

"Right," Justin said, cocking an unconvinced eyebrow upward. "Well, I just wanted to check in and see how everything was going, Minister. I promise these periodic drop-ins are just a first-day thing— you'll have your office much more to yourself in the following days."

"I appreciate them," Hermione smiled, and Justin returned it before he, too, left the office.

Throughout the course of the day, however, she was delighted to find that it wasn't only Justin that did these periodic drop-ins: Ron wove in and out of her office without her having to tap for him, bringing her lunch, snacks, and fresh beverages as she toiled over her desk. Every time he came in, without her having to tap for him, he let drop a witty quip or a half-hearted joke of some sort, that always made Hermione bubble above her work for a bit. He was as quick to leave as he was to appear, but with every new visit, Hermione thought she caught his gaze lingering somewhat– and her own eyes followed him even after he had disappeared beyond the door. In his last visit, their eyes had briefly locked, and Hermione had caught a glimpse of a much deeper feeling that that mirthful spark she had caught in Ron's eyes when she had met him. He had been quick to look away; mirroring him, she had just as rapidly darted back to her paperwork. But the memory of his eyes, of his warm, attentive voice as he came in to check on her, of the buttery smell she had come to associate with each of his entrances, had stayed firmly embedded in the forefront of her mind for the first few minutes of every time she tried to return to her work. Merlin, how she hoped that Ron's drop-ins wouldn't wane as Justin had promised his would!

It had been a while since Ron had last dropped by to ask if she wanted a cup of anything or a quick bite, and Hermione had been poring over a particularly dense dossier about proposed Portkey regulations (compiled, funnily enough, by Percy Weasley) when she looked up to her side and realized that the charmed window had drained of color and morphed into a dark, cloudy night. Outside her office, she could hear the sound of Ernie packing up his things and humming a little tune she thought might be the Hogwarts fight song as he did so. The Ministry was easing into the end of the workday, and it would soon come time for her to do the same. She just had this last report to get through, and then she could be hurrying along home for a nice late dinner after a somewhat dull, but overall successful, first day at the head of the Ministry.

As she wrapped up her notes on the report, a small rap at the door roused her from her writing, and her quill dangled in her hand as she lifted her gaze to see Ron's torso peeking out from behind the door.

"Will you be wanting anything else?"

"No, thank you, Ron," she smiled. "I'm just about to finish for the day."

But Ron didn't nod and take his leave; he wove around the open door and showed himself into her office. This time, he didn't stride right up to her desk as he had in all his other visits, but rather lingered near the entrance. "May I interest you in a cup of tea?"

"No, thanks, really; I'm quite alright," Hermione said, her gaze still fixed on the note paper as she added the final flourishes of writing to her comments on Percy's report.

But still Ron didn't leave. He cleared his throat and ventured a few steps forward. "I misspoke," he began, and that was enough to get Hermione to lift her gaze again. "I meant— d'you, at all, fancy having a cup of tea with me outside the office?" When Hermione didn't respond immediately, he shifted his weight from foot to foot, looking down at the Persian rug Hermione had placed on the floor. "We could, er, Floo to Hogsmeade, have a seat at the Three Broomsticks?"

His eyes lifted expectantly, timidly seeking to meet hers, and when they did, Hermione again saw a tinge of that unidentifiable emotion flash across them. They froze like that for a brief moment in time, neither looking away, neither moving at all. Then Hermione's face cracked into a smile: she slid her paperwork aside, turned off the lamp on her desk, grabbed her purse from the rack beside it, and stepped out into the open office, where Ron was waiting, from behind the desk. "I'd be delighted."


End file.
